


Eternally deep and deeply shallow

by DerReiner



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Art, Betrayal, Character Death, Death, F/M, Falling In Love, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Forced Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Kinslaying, Language of Flowers, Lovers to Friends, Major Original Character(s), Marriage of Convenience, Original Character-centric, Reincarnation, Revenge, Romance, Scheming, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Torture, Tragic Romance, Unrequited Love, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerReiner/pseuds/DerReiner
Summary: Elves are immortal. Elves are bored. Elves are evil.Istimiel learned the hard way that Elves cherish beauty above all things and that a bored Elf is more dangerous that the Dark Lord himself.Maimed by Fëanaro and abandoned by her husband and family, she is left to mend her injuries as best she can.Rejected by society, she finds solace in the only one who offers her a chance where she can find none.And so she follows him as third in command, exiled to Middle-Earth, with hatred in her heart and revenge in her hand.
Relationships: Maedhros | Maitimo/Original Female Character(s), Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Original Character(s), Sauron | Mairon/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	1. Grains of sand and splashes of ink

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is the first story I've ever put down and that I actually found the courage to publish, hoping to receive your opinions.  
> Any corrections on any misspellings are very appreciated, considering English isn't my mother language and its the first time I write in another language.  
> Thus being said, thank you and good reading!

For some strange reason, I thought myself to be peculiar, for I always cherished memories.

My people are doomed to live as long as Arda exists, to share in its joys and sorrows. We call ourselves blessed because we outlive all creatures and look down on them for their limits as if we weren't well aware of ours.  
Maybe we aren't, and think highly - too highly - of ourselves, overshadowing reason with our pretenses of perfection. A perfection we only get close to because of our long lives and a long time to practice all arts and crafts.

Or maybe we are aware of our limits and want to mask our fear of being limited by pretending not to be, by giving others the impression of perfection and completeness.  
My people adore being appreciated, if not for their mastery in crafts at least for their beauty. They think to be art made flesh, and like all art they expect others to look upon them and wish to be alike, curving their shoulders in sorrow when they cannot and defying one another in the search for such harmony of form.

We are shallow, we care only about our form and the form our hands give to matter. We like a statue once it is completed, beauty at every degree. Who looks at an unfinished statue, who buys it, who displays it? And if that statue has a crack or more? How can it be seen as beautiful?  
We are shallow, sight is our main sense.  
This is our downfall.

But not all of us are frivolous.  
Some of us look at wet sand under their feet and smile when they feel every grain tickle their heels and stick to their calves; they cradle wet clay in their hands and rejoice when it seeps through their fingers and soils their nails; they squint and laugh when the bitter taste of ink meets their tongue, when they touch their lips to moisture an inked finger, leaving marks all along their mouth and chin. They shiver and curl their fingers, tightening the embrace when lips kiss lips. They puff and smile when leaves stick out of their mane, pins and circlets forgotten on the forest floor, beneath their dishevelled clothing.  
They smile, they laugh, they bare their pearl white teeth and stick out their tongue, squinting when they close their eyes and feel.

This is why I love him.  
Many question my judgment and ask me what I saw in him that made me fall head over heels. They shake their heads in disbelief when I tell them about the music of his soul, when I tell them about his beautiful smile and his spontaneity, about his happy eyes when he plays me a prank or gives me a grass stem in gentle mockery.

They call me a fool, they think me insane.  
But I am not offended, I understand them. For they hadn't been blessed with such a gift from him, they hadn't been blessed with his true self, that revealed itself under the stars or far from prying eyes.  
They call me a fool because they only see a fiery mane and a mischievous smile, one corner of the mouth turning upwards in half a smile. They only see the beauty of his features and think him one of them, the shallow.

This is why I love him because he is none of who he seems, of who he shows others.  
And I hope that will never change because I wish to be the only one to jealously cherish his true self.  
But I am afraid that the shallow ones will ruin him because they are selfish and see him as a tool and his love for others will blind him in front of the danger. I am afraid of Fëanáro. 

This is why I love him, that selfless, deep and witty soul, twin only to mine. 

"I've seen you write in that book of yours the entire day. Care to share?"  
And just as I was admitting my own sentiments to none other but myself, there came that mass of auburn hair.  
"If only you asked me differently."  
I closed the book right before he presented me with a grass stem and a childlike smile, a giggle escaping his lips when he gave me a peck on the cheek. His dark grey eyes fixed on my countenance and when he found no reason to worry, he bent and laid a kiss upon my head. His moist lips travelled along my cheek, down to my lips and trapped them between his, tugging at them with his teeth. I suddenly distanced myself from him, half in dull pain and half because I caught sight of his brothers spying on us from behind a tree.

I blushed furiously and covered my swollen mouth with a hand, but when I turned to look up at him, Maitimo was already on his feet, irritation in his eyes and vengeance on the tip of his tongue. He yelled at his brothers in an accent I couldn't understand and they sprung up from nowhere and started to run around the forest as Morifinwë chased them, face red and eyes wet with angry tears. Weaving his wooden sword at the twins, the red-faced brother followed the firey horsetails as they parted midway, one aiming for the geese and the other for the grains. Knowing full well their brother's fear of birds, the twins drew a circle around Morifinwë and released the hungry geese.

Thus imprisoned Morifinwë at the edge of the forest and the twins engaged in a diversion, Maitimo turned towards me and threw an arm around my shoulders, drawing me to him.  
I closed my eyes and inhaled his perfume, all grass and wet earth.

"Is your father away?" I asked, for I hadn't seen him around nor did Nelyo try to conceal my presence.  
"Mhm."  
I opened an eye and looked up at him, studying his profile. The high cheekbones, the freckled nose, the full lips and the sharp jaw, all framed by the smooth red hair that fell on my brow and tickled my nose.  
"And when is he coming back?" I asked, hoping to gain at least a couple of days with him.  
"I know not, this time he only said he was going to explore some new cave he found around the house. Knowing him, he should spend a couple of days there, turning up and down every rock and looking in every cranny."  
"Let's hope so."  
At that, he opened his eyes and squared me severely. He raised an eyebrow and stood up to go after his brothers, but I caught his arm and pulled him back on the grass.  
"I can not let my brothers unsupervised. Especially Morifinwë and the twins."  
"You know me and your father don't go along. This is why I am so happy that he is away. I know you love him, but that doesn't mean that I also have to."  
"I don't love him. Nonetheless, I respect him. And he has done nothing to lose yours."  
"I lack that. Yes, I do not respect him, and I am not the only one to feel so, stop looking at me as if I were a heretic. Now please, don't let your father come between us even when he is away. You, we, already have enough problems when he and your mother are around."

He scoffed and closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh mountain air. When he finally looked down, he bent his head and laid a gentle kiss on my lips, a silent promise to heed my prayer and protect me from his father's rage when he would find out he indulged in my presence. 

He moved me so I stood between his long legs and laughed as I sneezed when his hair tickled my nose. His arms tightened around me and then I prayed the Valar that he would always hold me tight.  
However, as I drifted into a gentle sleep, I felt a tug at my heart and the voice of conscience told me to ignore my people and be peculiar again. So I cherished that memory and the feeling of his body around mine, knowing deep down that a day like that wasn't going to repeat itself.


	2. Wood and tulips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening everyone! I ask for you forgiveness because I haven't uploaded another chapter in such a long time, but I was caught up with school. It is doing great but it requires many sacrifices and writing at a slower pace is one of them. Besides, my computer broke down.
> 
> As you can see I am publishing on the 31st December, the last day of 2019. I wish you all heartwarming holidays and a Happy New Year, blessed with health and happiness. May all of you live this year in grace together with your beloved ones.
> 
> Chapter notes:  
> WARNING! This chapter contains notions of self-harm. Discretion be advised

“Hope not ever to see Heaven. I have come to lead you to the other shore; into eternal darkness; into fire and into ice.” – Dante Alighieri, Inferno

They wouldn’t stop. They would do nothing but screech and scream in the back of my mind.

It had been four days since I last slept. My eyelids almost dropped closed over my eyes but I tried to strengthen myself and keep my eyes open. Those damned eyes, what they have witnessed!

They wouldn’t stop. No matter what. Their curses and chants would travel through my mind and latch themselves onto my memories, suffocating and changing them as they pleased. What whimsical creatures they were!

I would hit my head against the cold, bloody trunk poking the belly of my tent until my forehead would get even redder with scratches.

They wouldn’t stop. Every night I closed my eyes they would torment me with the images of their innards splattered onto the moist soil at the front of their houses. The cries of their children and the wails of their wives before they were slaughtered would deafen me with their intensity. So much that I would try to cut my ears off or stuff them with every object that came into my hands. My ears would buzz with that maddening sound and my hand would itch to scratch them off.

And I would’ve succeeded, each and every time, had it not been for that wretched creature!

As their laughter got louder, I would bring my fingers to my ears and scratch them till I had blood running down my fingers and skin under my nails.

Then, as I neared the point when I would try to cut them off, the putrid stench of Elves would invade my nostrils as hard as the mockers’ calls. Forget-me-not and tulips.

Fresh ink and burned wood.

Then I would hear a voice, ragged and heavy with sleep or pain. And I would lower the hand from my ears because the demon souls that haunted me would go away under that ominous song sung in a language I forgot.

_Nelyo!_

The scream woke me up. My lungs refused to breathe in the air I sent down and would stop in my throat. I realized I had fallen asleep and the scream had been my voice.

With one hand on my chest and the other on the feverish forehead, I tried to remember whether I screamed his name out loud or if it was all in my mind, as it always seemed to be.

“Commander, everythin’ a’right there?”

They heard it. How many of them have heard my scream? Did they know whose name I screamed? Most probably they did for I remember bragging about his capture and offering the best ale that could be found around and half of the day after’s rations of food.

“Commander, do you need something? Can I come in?”

Without waiting for my consent, Gorgol **1** flipped the corners of the tent and made himself cozy on the stuffed chair next to the hearth. His grayish skin glistened in the firelight and his eyes seemed two pepper beans.

I looked down on him and as I did so, I could not stop but admire Melkor’s handiness. That prototype of an orc was as beautiful and peculiar as a true artwork could be. He had taken a blank, pale canvas and tinted it grey, He morphed the willowy figure into a lean but muscular one, muscles rippling beneath the thickening skin. His hair was shining with health, black strands stark against the pallor of his visage. Angular features in stark contrast with the bulking of his muscles. But his ears weren’t as beautiful as those of the Elves. No, here Melkor had miserably failed.

When he asked for our advice, mine and Mairon’s, some twenty centuries ago, the two of us agreed to keep those peculiar and sensitive ears as Eru had intended them to be. He, however, was of a different opinion and we couldn’t change his mind. And so, Gorgol has one beautiful pointy ear and the right one cut into a rounded shape and pierced with a silver earring.

It rusted two centuries ago, that earring. I promised myself I would remember to gift him a new one. And maybe a new collar to fasten around his neck; the last one broke when Mairon tried to leash him.

“Are ye goin’ to tell me what’s happened?” his croaky voice shook me out of my train of thoughts and brought me back to reality.

I made to part my lips and speak when I realized that, although there was nothing I haven’t told him about, I surely couldn’t afford to speak my mind this freely, no matter what title I gave myself and how highly my appointed servants regarded me.

His eyebrow rose close to his hairline, a clear sign for me to speak up. That gesture, it was so similar to Nelyo’s. He would rise the right eyebrow though.

“Again, commander. What happened ‘ere? One of ye nigh’mares again?”

I shook my head and rose from the cot in the other corner of the tent. Steadying my steps, I took the sword in the right hand and the shield in the left and exited the black skins covering us the commanders from acid rain.

Everyone’s skin was burned here and there, some of it had fallen off and some of it had melted with the clothes covering the soldiers. Some of them were still crying out the pain while others tried to busy themselves with the camp’s needs in order to forget the burning in their limbs and faces.

Luckily Gorgol has suffered none of that and I praised myself for taking such good care of my personal servant. Every time Melkor sent that bloody rain down on earth, I would pretend to summon Gorgol for my needs and so would offer him coverage from the putrid water.

“The order of the day?”

I hadn’t realized I’ve spoken until Gorgol answered. I did that sometimes, merely from use rather that thought.

I stopped and turned on my steps when I didn’t hear Gorgol’s. He was standing three feet away, the cloak tied around his neck like a scarf and his usual book under an armpit.

“The order of the day, Gorgol? Has Tevildo eaten your tongue?”

The half-orc closed the distance between us so no one would hear a word we said and and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“I won’t say another word ‘till ye tell me what’s happened.”

“A little too many pretenses you have, Gorgol. What about you remember your place before I punish you? I might not be as gruesome as Sauron but I certainly am not a faint of heart.”

He came closer, his hand tightening around my wrist, stopping the sword that found the way to his throat. My eyes widened and my fingers tightened around the carved hilt of the Elven sword.

“I’ve known you since Valinor and chose to follow you into the very pits of gore. I know you, Istime. I know you wouldn’t hurt me unless I told you so. Me or Mairon for the matter.”

One corner of his lips lifted in a smug smile and the left eyebrow rose once again, ready to defy me, waiting for my reaction.

I couldn’t move but I could feel everyone’s eyes resting on the two of us. I yanked my wrist from his grasp and brought the sword to the skin of his neck. It burned and scarred almost immediately.

I forgot he was made an orc and touching Elven steel would bring him harm.

I retreated and sheathed the blade until its bluish gleam faded into the hilt.

“You’ve grown too full and sure of yourself since I allowed you to share my tent during the rains. Remember, Gorgol: greed and surety killed Tevildo.”

“Yes, they did. But satisfaction brought him back.”

I was going to open my mouth once more and say something in retort, but then the horn blew three times.

All commanders were summoned. A war council was to be held.

But as I moved once more, followed by Gorgol now three steps behind me, the damned horn blew a fourth time.

All commanders were summoned. We were invaded.

Shouts and chaos broke out in the camp and out of it. Orcs, Elves and Maiar were all turning the armory tents upside down in search for a weapon.

We weren’t expecting an invasion. Not now. And from whom, besides?

“Gorgol.”

“At ye orders, Commander.”

“How many horns have they blown?”

“Four, Commander.”

“Are you sure it was not five?”

“Sure, Commander.”

“Who could inavde us? Of all who could be invaded, not even Manwe could come against us at this point.”

I turned towards Gorgol but I didn’t hear the word he said. His mouth was opened wide, his pearl white teeth glowing in the moonlight, and his index was pointing at the invaders.

Their high-pitched cries filled the air and all I could do before the Eagles descended on us was cover my ears and scream.

The voices were back and the wind stopped carrying Nelyo’s scent from Thangorodrim2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me, again.  
> One last thing I wanted to tell you was that I hope you appreciated the first chapter and this one. I wish to thank you all for reading them and leaving kudos! You have no idea how much they mean to me, a first time writer.  
> As last time, leave kudos, reviews and messages with your opinions or comments. They are more than constructive to me.
> 
> Chapter notes:  
> 1- Gorgol, a name I found in one of Tolkien's works (unfortunately I don't have the exact source at hand, please excuse me) and he was known for being an orcish chieftain. Somehow it sounded right in this role so I told myself to relief you from my awful invented names :)  
> 2- Thangorodrim, a group of three volcaninc mountains in the Iron Mountains. They were raised by Melkor during the First Age

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading this first chapter!
> 
> Istimiel [daughter of a knowledgeable one]  
> Maitimo = Maedhros, Nelyafinwë (Nelyo)  
> Amrod & Amras = Pityafinwë & Telufinwë, the twins  
> Morifinwë = Carnistir [the red-faced one], Caranthir


End file.
